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The plan was working well. She was at the bar, the quiet side of the drama, swinging a glass in her fingers absentmindedly, when she felt the electricity in the air. No lies, she did feel it; hence didn't have to turn to know he slid in a stool beside her. One might think he was unaware of the effect he had, but that's not entirely true. It was evident he was experienced and he knew exactly how he made her feel. Plus, she wasn't that brilliant at hiding her response as she thought she was.

Taylor didn't look at him, not for the excruciating eighty five seconds since he sat. But when she did, his blue eyes stared back at her, a sly glint in their oceanic depth, sinking and drowning. Then he spoke in his swoon-worthy accent. To her. And it made her twenty-six year long life worth it. They proceeded with introductions, to which he shook his head, saying, "It'd be a crime not to know you," to which she smoothly replied, "Then you must be guilty."

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